


In The End

by Kirklockian



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 2014!verse, Angst, Complete, Family, Fate & Destiny, Gen, Lucifer-possessed!Sam, Oneshot, Rated to be Safe, spoilers up to and including season five of Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:48:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25753858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirklockian/pseuds/Kirklockian
Summary: Dean lost. Just like he always knew he would. Complete.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Kudos: 6





	In The End

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing. The TV show Supernatural belongs solely to its rightful owner(s). Please don't sue me.
> 
> I decided to bite the bullet and start posting all of my old stories across my two separate fanfiction.net accounts (Kirklockian & Wolf126) so they'll appear in one place under one account. I'm mostly doing this to track my progress as a writer. This fic was originally posted all the way back in 2013 on fanfiction.net under the username Wolf126. For those who are (understandably) concerned about plagiarism, please PM my original Wolf126 account on ff.net to confirm. Be warned though: I rarely check that email anymore.

It happened. Just like they said it would.

Detroit. Camp Chitaqua. Michael. Bobby. Cas.

 _Exactly_ like they said it would.

Hell, I even met myself. My past self, anyway. I hadn't realized how idealistic I was back then, how perfectly annoying. Filled with a false sense of hope, my past self seemed ready to take on the Devil himself. The decisions I'd made were necessary. So, I took the first opportunity I had and left him behind.

 _I can do this_ , I'd thought. _Hope._ _There's still hope_.

But I was wrong. About so many things.

It feels like a hundred years have passed since I last stood in this cemetery. Since I last saw that lanky frame, familiar face, brown puppy-dog eyes, and all.

Maybe it has been a hundred years. I don't know. But I'm wearing the clothes I've always worn, and I'm dirty. Haggard. Weariness has seeped into my bones, my very being, and somehow come to define me. I feel like I could sleep forever. My first impression of Him is that He's well-dressed and worldly. His white suit is crisp, new, and everything I'm not.

I think it's this realization that hits me the hardest: We don't even look like brothers anymore.

Call me sentimental, but it's the eyes that affect me most. The clothes may be different, the face a shade or two paler, but the eyes — they're Sammy's. I'd know them anywhere, and with good reason. They're the eyes I've grown used to, that have been watching me, _idolizing_ me, longer than I care to remember. And I might just know them better than I know my own in the mirror.

_But they're not Sammy's anymore . . . are they?_

Seeing them . . . I knew then what I had always known, on some level or another. I could not kill my brother, even if he was the Devil. Not Sammy.

_Oh, God. Not Sammy._

I would rather die.

The revolver slipped through my fingers easily, like sand, and landed in the dewy grass with a dull _thunk_.

He began to walk towards me, His expression grim and almost apologetic.

"It didn't have to be this way," He said, softly.

"I know," I whispered, mesmerized. His eyes were suffocating. Looking into them, I thought that it would not be so bad to die after all.

_I'm sorry, Sammy. I'm so sorry._

And in the end . . . In the throes of remorse, I finally knew the death of love.


End file.
